“Read it,” begged Captain Halstead.
This the charter-man did, his face changing color as soon as he began to understand.
“Dixon?” he faltered. “Oh, impossible! Yet—confound it! The case does look black, doesn’t it? I must see Dixon, anyway. If this is injustice, then he must have a chance to prove his innocence at once.”
“Do you know where he is?” Halstead inquired.
“No; the ladies have just passed through to luncheon, and they sent me to find the young man. Now, I’m more than ever anxious to find him.”
Henry Tremaine looked worried, though he was not yet ready to believe Dixon certainly guilty. Tremaine’s nature was a large one; he was unsuspicious, usually. He hated to believe anyone guilty of real wickedness.
“Ah, good morning, Mr. Tremaine,” came, cordially, from Mr. Haight, the president of the bank, as that gentleman stepped inside from the porch.
“How do you do, Mr. Haight?” returned the perplexed Tremaine.
The bank president started to pass on, then turned.
“Oh, by the way, Mr. Tremaine, I was very glad to attend to your note this morning——”